


Feather-light

by Lisie



Series: Wyrmblood [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisie/pseuds/Lisie
Summary: Estinien is better at more than he lets on..
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: Wyrmblood [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742200
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Feather-light

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had other plans for this piece, but Sway With Me from the birds of prey soundtrack came up on my spotify and this popped out instead. I made Aymeric good at piano, so Estinien needed an unexpected skill too, and I thought this suited him most, even if it is a bit tropey.
> 
> Also a shout out to all the people from the Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club (gosh that's a mouthful). They're all amazing, incredible, wonderful people and would highly recommend checking out the Discord.
> 
> https://discord.gg/QCC5kcr (Please let me know if this link doesn't work)

Estinien's face was as black as the bottom of a pot when he walked up to the pair, his eyes staring venomously at the fingertips now resting between her bare shoulder blades.  
He had returned to Ishgard to visit, and had not quite expected to see his almost lifelong friend, with his sticky paws all over the now ravishingly dressed Warrior of Light. She was wearing a midnight blue dress, slight twinkles shimmering as the fabric shifted. The rest of the dress was, admittedly, otherwise very conservative - long arms, and a long skirt reaching the floor, but it had an open back that dropped all the way down to the dimples signifying the end of her spine.  
"And where might you two be off to?" He growled from behind them. They both turned at the sound of his voice; she looked happy to see him, her eyes brightening up markedly; but it did not slip his attention that his friend froze, the fingers which had left her back at their turn hovering awkwardly, apparently not sure if it was appropriate to make their return. Which of course, Estinien thought, it absolutely was _not_. Aymeric obviously decided the same, and he took a small step sideways, his hands clasped behind him.

"We were just making our way to the Fortemps Manor - a function arranged by the Count. You were, in fact, invited too, though..." Aymeric hesitated before continuing, "I perhaps wrongly assumed that you would not like to attend."

Estinien hated parties. Hated dancing. So he knew his friend was probably trying to spare him the horror, more than trying to do anything insidious behind his back. But, nonetheless, this was one party he would make an exception for.  
"I'm going." He stated definitively.

"Ahem." Aymeric cleared his throat, his hand politely coming up to cover his mouth, "This is a formal function Estinien."

 _Oh right_. Estinien looked down to his clothes. He was wearing mostly black, but it was all armour. Plus his spear was hanging at his back. But he wasn't about to give up. He unbuckled the catches on his chestpiece, pulling it off and wrapping it into the crook of his arm, revealing a body-hugging, black, collarless shirt underneath. He unbuttoned the top three buttons, before cocking his head to the side, locating a stray piece of hempen thread hanging off the armour where the threading had begun to come undone. He tore it off, using it to tie his hair off at the back of his neck in a neat low ponytail.

Her eyes sparkled as she strode over to him, before turning to Aymeric (Estinien's hand sliding around her back, pulling her in closer by the waist, his gaze not leaving the black-haired Elezen), "Oh this is fine, right Aymeric?" she pleaded.  
Estinien cast him a deathly glare, _just to make sure_.

Though undoubtedly under duress, Aymeric agreed with a strained nod of his head, before taking an exaggerated breath in, his eyebrows perking up as he continued, "Well, I am quite capable of making my way to the Manor on my own. I will see the two of you there!" He strode off gracefully, leaving the pair alone.  
Estinien released her from his possessive grip, and faced her, his free hand coming to rest on her hips.  
"You look. Fantastic." He still found it difficult to verbalise such excessive praise, but he was hardly willing to let even more people beat him to it. Aymeric had probably already done so, in his disgustingly verbose manner. Which was annoying. Perhaps it was time to invite Aymeric for a friendly spar in the training grounds. They hadn't done that in a while. 

She sidled up closer to him, her neck arching until her lips were an ilm from his chin, her hands resting on his chest. "Thank you. You actually look rather fetching; I'm not actually very fond of the puffy doublets you Ishgardians like. This is much better."  
He hummed, slipping his face down for a quick kiss before turning in the direction of the manor. He made an act of bowing, his one arm outstretched to her with a twirl, the other (which was currently burdened with both his spear, and his armour), curled into his chest - though his attempt at a smile was more of a grimace than anything. She giggled sweetly, before taking his hand.

  


As the two arrived at the manor, Artoirel de Fortemps met them at the door, "Ah! My good frie-" he began, his arms spread out, coming to hug the woman beside him - before a large spear and piece of armour came crashing into his chest.  
"Put this somewhere safe would you." Estinien growled.  
Winded, Artoirel did at least manage to keep upright as he grabbed the items. Still spluttering, Artoirel continued, his fortitude actually impressing Estinien, "Of course, of course. So honoured I am to have the former Azure Dragoon grace our humble party." He leaned in to give her a brief kiss on the cheek, before running off excitedly to hand Estinien's belongings to one of the house servants. Does his exuberance know no bounds?  
Now completely unencumbered, Estinien's hand returned to its previous position around her waist as the pair entered what had now become quite the ballroom. A large section of the room was cordoned off for the dancers - the remaining guests who weren't dancing were caught in amicable discussion along the walls, drinks in hand.  
She led him towards the back end of the room, where Edmont and Aymeric were currently embroiled in a merry discussion of their own. At their approach, Edmont turned, his arms stretched out wide. She slipped from his grip to give the old Count a big hug, both stopping to catch up.

  


Estinien walked up to his friend. He was still not all that pleased with him, but he grudgingly let it go; he was actually appreciative that his friend so often filled the gaps where he was unable. It was good that she had a partner for functions like this, as he was so averse to them. And if it had to be anyone, Aymeric was probably the best choice.  
  
"Are you going to dance?" Aymeric asked him, his eyes twinkling with amusement.  
  
"Of course _not_." Estinien stated sharply.  
  
" _Oh_ ," Aymeric continued, apparently even more pleased with his response, "But you see, old boy. There is a rule at this party. Everyone must dance at least once. You wouldn't want to be discourteous towards the Count who has done so very much for the woman on your arm tonight."  
  
Estinien ground his teeth, his jaw flexing noticeably. Of course there's some stupid rule like that, he thought - what is it with these people? Do they truly go out of their way to make everything absolutely insufferable for him. Aymeric started chuckling; Estinien wondered whether he should move that invitation for a spar forwards in his schedule. Now would be best - but unfortunately, considering the circumstances, that wouldn't be possible.

  


After a short chat, Aymeric wandered off to secure himself a drink, leaving Estinien leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, the frigid air around him successfully securing him some peace. Although he noticed there were one or two women casting nervous glances at him over the fans flapping in their hands. It was only going to be a matter of time, he thought - when would his saviour be finished with the old Count? Almost on cue, she gave a final smile to the Count, before moving towards Estinien. As she came up to him, Estinien noticed her eyes flicker to the women edging closer to his position, her eyebrows furrowing. The edges of his lips upturned imperceptibly.  
Her eyes returned to his, her expression once more softening, "Did Aymeric tell you? About the rule." She sounded so excited, Estinien noted despairingly. There was probably no chance of him getting out of this.

She led him into the middle of the dance floor. More than aware of the motions, he lifted her hand in his to come level with his shoulder, his other already in position at her waist. Her eyebrows perked up, her eyes widening. _She obviously thought I couldn't dance_. Although he wished he couldn't; Aymeric had dragged him into far too many things he didn't want to do.  
  
"You like dancing?" He asked, his voice harsh, barely escaping between his taught jaw. They began a slow ballroom dance.  
  
"Love it!" she exclaimed, "I make a point to learn all the dances of all the different regions I pass through." Obviously brimming with excitement, she continued, far too chatty for his liking considering the direction her monologue turned. "I usually come with Aymeric. He's such a good dancer, you know. Not many people want to dance with me, so it's really kind of him to accompany me so often." Estinien's teeth creaked under the pressure from his jaw. "And he knows so many different dances too! I suppose it must be an interest of his." Estinien forced a small smile from his lips, his hand around her waist gripping tighter. She cocked her head to the side, looking up to him enquiringly, "You don't like to dance? Don't force yourself. I can alwa-"

"That is quite enough, little minx. I do like one dance actually." She looked shocked, but intrigued. "Salsa. Do you know of it? It's a foreign dance I once came across -- You're not the only one with a heart of adventure."  
By the blush creeping into her cheeks, he assumed she did. A devilish grin slipped out from his clenched jaw; this might just be interesting after all.

"But-" She looked around the room, "Is it really ok? This _is_ Ishgard. I'm already a little worried my dress was a bit much."

"You look stunning. If they have a problem with it, they can try going though me." The words came out as a snap - more at the thought of someone castigating her for the way she dressed, rather than at her.

"Well alright..." she assented, her eyes slipping to the side, the faint blush still colouring her cheeks, "I do love salsa."

****

Aymeric had returned to his previous spot, Artoirel joining him and his father in hearty conversation, when the three realised a wave of whispers had rippled across the room. Intrigued, they all turned to find the source of the disruption.

"Oh _my_..!" The count exclaimed from beside Aymeric... Before excitedly gesticulating to the musicians in the corner of the room, pointing to the centre of the dancefloor. An enabler, he's an enabler, Aymeric thought with exasperation. Nonetheless, he too was smiling. 

He watched the pair, the Warrior of Light blushing slightly, her movements a little awkward considering the intimacy of the dance. Estinien, of course, was the picture of the word suave. Though most would assume otherwise, Aymeric was quite aware of the undeniable fact that Estinien was a fantastic dancer, a natural - to the point it made Aymeric exceedingly jealous. His movements maintained his rough exterior, but frustratingly only came across as distinctively masculine, adding a sexy edge to his aura. His feet and hips moved fluidly, and his hands expertly guided her - never let it be said that skills gained on a battlefield were not transferable. As the musicians reacted to the Count's direction, Estinien leaned in to whisper something into her ears, and she loosened up considerably, fixing her eyes on the man in front of her. The crowd in the room had now completely cleared the dance floor for them, who by this point, seemed either oblivious - in the case of the Warrior of Light, or in Estinien's case, how should we say delicately - didn't give a shit.  
Aymeric noticed with amusement that the eyes of many in the room were as wide as saucers as they watched the dancers, the fans in the ladies' hands fluttering far faster than they must have intended.

Their hips were locked together, merely two thin layers of fabric between them as they twisted, rubbed and ground - a necessity for the style of dance, but he imagined would come across as no more than porn without plot for most Ishgardians, who could barely handle exposing an ilm of ankle. Speaking of clothing, Estinien's attire was perfect (a point you could see many around the room had noticed from the lick to their lips); his muscles flexed against his skin-tight breeches and shirt - he had also turned up his sleeves, exposing his built forearms, which clutched her bare back, hips, waist, thighs - wherever was necessary in their adventure across the floor.

Aymeric heard Artoirel gulp audibly beside him, the Count chuckling at the sound. 

Artoirel's voice came out no more than a squeak as he said, "I should really ask Estinien to show me that form of dance. You know, what was it you said Aymeric? We should broaden our horizons past the borders of Ishgard." 

The Count's chuckles intensified at Artoirel's words. Aymeric thought it was no wonder all the Fortemps boys ended up so liberal - it was all their father's fault.

Just as he was thinking that, the entire crowd gasped, even Aymeric feeling the distinctive beginnings of a blush snaking its way up from his collar. The Warrior of Light was now hanging, her shins tucked almost into Estinien's chest, clasped by the small of her back by Estinien's strong arms as he leaned over her, his one leg bent. The long slit in her skirt had parted, the one edge slipping between her legs, the other falling away to expose her leg all the way to, let's just say, very far up her thigh, the rest of the fabric pooling on the ground. When she returned from the athletic move, she wore the broadest smile Aymeric had ever seen on her. It seemed all hesitance had escaped her from that point forward. Estinien threw her far from his body, his hand gripping her wrist to stop her from flying away completely. They both circled each other for a half turn, their locked gazes almost predatory, before her hips simultaneously snapped and swayed, _left, right, left_ as she approached the white haired man, her arms coming up to clutch the top of his shoulders. Estinien himself was grinning, apparently enjoying himself more than he expected. The eyes of many in the room had now slipped possibly inappropriately, lingering on the flashes of leg that had appeared with her movements through the slit they were all now aware of.

As her arms came up to his shoulders, he wrapped both arms across her back, twisting her body, bringing his parted lips so close to hers, they must have been somehow closer than their hips (now so adamantly locked together again), but still not touching. Everyone's eyes snapped back upwards, Aymeric pulling at his collar, letting some cool air enter his doublet. He fared much better than the five women in the vicinity of the dancers, who almost theatrically turned beet red, one by one in order of their proximity to the pair, their fans now a furious flurry of activity. He was more surprised that the fifth didn't faint from shock to complete the scene.

But the two on the dance floor still had one last act in them. As the music came to a sharp end, she had arched her back and neck, her one set of toes sliding up the inner part of Estinien's thigh as he tilted her backwards. It seemed as if Estinien had lead her quite purposefully to their position right in front of the Fortemps-Aymeric trio. Estinien, still grinning - but this time, a mixture of triumph, warning, and satisfaction - lifted his eyes to meet Aymeric's. He closed them, the tips of his nose coming to touch her chin, tilting his neck at the perfect angle to allow his nose, and now lips to graze the skin down her neck slowly, before his lips _finally_ came to _actually_ meet her body in the centre of her chest - the point between her breasts.

By the time the dance reached its end, not a single person in the room had been spared - except perhaps the Count himself, who was somehow still having the time of his life, bursting into loud applause. The old man certainly had more stories to tell than he had let on. _Surely_.  
Old fox.

****

Estinien opened his eyes, pulling her up with him into an upright position. Her teeth were sparkling through her smile, and her eyes were glittering in happiness, even as both of their chests heaved - that dance was certainly not one for the faint of heart. Estinien couldn't help himself, he smiled warmly down at the woman's face.

"How is it that you're able to make anything and everything so much fun?"


End file.
